


paper hearts (when a boy tells you he loves you)

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Stucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 19:06:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5939851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve could fuzzily recall wet lips against his own and a slurred "I love you" to which he'd did his best to calmly reply - "I know Buck, I love you too" only to find that Bucky felt the need to clarify. He'd leaned his forehead against Steve's; whiskey on his breath and said the words that Steve knew he'd never forget for as long as he lived.</p><p>He is just a boy,<br/>remember?<br/>Only a boy,<br/>do you remember?</p>
            </blockquote>





	paper hearts (when a boy tells you he loves you)

**Author's Note:**

> go listen to edwin's slam poetry on youtube it's incredibly beautiful and his voice is so soothing  
> here is "when a boy tells you he loves you" by him https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sq1l-19pwS4

_When a boy tells you he loves you for the first time_

_only to become silent like a folded sheet of tissue paper_

_not wanting you to decrease him into the truth,_

_do not crack your face into the fullest crescent moon_

_at the tapered end of a blackened sky,_

_he never meant a word of it._

_he is just a boy, remember?_

_only a boy, do you remember?_

[[Edwin Bodney](http://thoughtcatalog.com/ari-eastman/2015/02/21-heart-punching-quotes-that-will-make-you-fall-in-love-with-poetry/)]

It's the cracked drywall that Steve notices first - a perfect fault line on a paper thin yellowing wall. There are faded roses on the wallpaper; reminiscent of someones past and even they are beginning to dull with time. Everything does, he thinks to himself, everything does.

There are no windows here - only solid wall as he scrapes his fingertips along it; rubs a chunk in between his fingertips as it paints them a pale white. He should feel as if the place were a prison cell for the poor - dirty water and boiled potatoes for dinner - but the only emotion he feels is a safe, warm.

Like clockwork he could always depend on the faint glow of the bedside lamp, the thudding noise from the next door neighbors as they went about their business, the even intake of Bucky's breathing at his side - all arms and legs stretching across the bed in search of warmth until they came to rest against Steve's and the faint scrape of Bucky's stubble on his arm where his shirt had rode up.

None of this was unusual - nothing out of place except...except something had changed last night. Somewhere in between Bucky deciding to celebrate a new job and the midnight hour Steve could fuzzily recall wet lips against his own and a slurred "I love you" to which he'd did his best to calmly reply - "I know Buck, I love you too" only to find that Bucky felt the need to clarify. He'd leaned his forehead against Steve's; whiskey on his breath and said the words that Steve knew he'd never forget for as long as he lived - "No. No no no. St-Stevie. Shhhh lemme get this off my chest. _I_ love _you_ and I can't...you can't dance and I can pick you up with one hand but I do. I love you."

If Steve had any expectations of what to expect next they would've all been dashed when Bucky stumbled forward and narrowly missed landing on the floor as he flopped onto the bed and passed out.

Steve hadn't slept a wink since - had been wide awake; replaying the words in his head and getting irrationally angry that Bucky would toy with his emotions like that.

He'd finally came to the conclusion that Bucky was pitying him and, with a huff, he'd climbed back into bed with his back to his best friend.

For that matter Bucky might not even recall what he'd confessed.

*****

Steve mutters to himself as he cracks eggs in their dented skillet and loudly scrapes the spatula across it, gathering the eggs into the center. Bucky is sleeping quite heavily, having rolled over onto the space Steve had occupied and curling up with Steve's pillow.

 _He never meant a word of it, he was drunk and he doesn't know how much it hurts - he doesn't,_ Steve thinks to himself.

He'd spent half of their lives shoving Bucky away defensively in hopes that one day he'd get tired of it and walk away for good. It would've been less painful that way. What Steve had feared would happen is exactly what had - meaningless words carelessly tossed into existence and the small sliver of hope that Steve had been holding onto shriveled inside of him.

With a loud clank the pan is tossed into the sink, having been scraped clean - eggs on two plates, cheap coffee on the side.

There's a groan in the other room and the bathroom door creaking closed - _he's awake then._

Steve pours himself another cup of coffee and cringes against the bitterness, wishes dearly that they could afford sugar.

"I'm starving," Bucky mumbles as he shuffles in and stabs a piece of food with his fork.

"Headache?," Steve asks - not because he's feeling sympathetic (but it's hard not to; it's _Bucky_ and he's sitting there with back hunched and hair untamed - sticking up in every direction. he's a sight any woman would love to wake up next to but Steve is just a boy and therein lies the problem) but because he's genuinely curious.

Bucky grunts and grimaces after taking a very enthusiastic gulp of hot coffee. "Are you feelin' alright Stevie?"

Sure.

Yeah.

If alright meant he was upright and breathing then he qualified.

"Why're you always askin' me that Buck? I don't have a fever and I'm breathing just fine," he huffs as he gathers his own plate and scrapes the remainder onto Bucky's.

"You can't afford not to eat," Bucky lectures - fork paused mid movement and eyes that track Steve's every move.

 _Take me apart,_ Steve thinks, _because I'm tired of this game and no one ever told me how to play it in the first place. It's an uneven playing field._

"I know when I'm hungry and when I'm not."

 _Ask me_ , he thinks, _make me tell you._

This only earns him a glare and Bucky pushing the plate away - "Then I'm not hungry either."

"You're gonna be late for work and they're gonna dock you for it. Rents due in a few days," Steve grumbles - he's keeping himself occupied as he aggressively scrubs at a stain on the narrow kitchen counter despite knowing that it's not going anywhere.

There's something to be said about permanence and stubborn will; Steve is familiar with both.

"Today's my day off, you know that. We're gonna go see that movie you wanted to see unless you're not in the mood for that either," Bucky counters, arms crossed against his chest defensively.

"Why don't you take that dame you met last week? Janet? Grace....?"

"Olivia. And I don't wanna take them I wanna take you."

It's too much.

Steve whirls around with dishrag in hand and a throbbing headache that only seems to be getting worse - "Why Buck? So you can feel sorry for me 'cause I can't ever seem to find a girl who doesn't look at me and see nothin' but asthma and bones?"

"You're gonna find the right one someday Steve, I swear it. If she doesn't like you the way you are then shes not worth it. We'll keep lookin' is all."

He wants to throttle Bucky, wants to scream until his throat is hoarse until the truth is as clear as the nose on his face.

Instead he turns his back to Bucky and leans against the counter with irritation -

"You ever thought that maybe that's not what I want right now?"

"Then we won't do double dates anymore. All you had to do was say somethin'."

Steve grips the dishtowel harder out of sheer frustration - "You remember anything from last night?"

Steve is an artist - he has a keen eye for detail and picking up on what others might miss like what a particular shade of blue looks like when the eyes widen or the faint expression of fear, concern, worry. It's all right there for the taking should he collect his pencil and paper but this is not the right time. There might never be a right time.

"Yeah. Yeah I do. Steve...I was-," he begins.

This isn't a conversation Steve wants any part of - he'd be left broken and devastated; powerless. 

"Don't worry about it, was just wondering," he replies as he quickly makes for his well worn bound sketchpad and the two pencils he alternated drawing with.

Bucky waltzes into the living room and nabs a pencil, knowing that this will make Steve snap to attention - "Dammit Steve will you SIT DOWN for a minute?!"

The decision to take the furthest shabby piece of furniture from Bucky is intentional and if it has the intended effect (and likely it won't as Bucky Barnes is the most stubborn person Steve has ever met) Bucky will take notice and back off.

Steve is not one to cash in his chips early though.

Bucky lowers himself onto the couch and cradles his head in his hands - arms slightly shaking and breathing that's far from calm but he's trying.

"I meant what I said and I don't regret what I did, Steve and if that bothers you then I'll see myself out. Say the word and I'm gone."

Steve feels like the chalky mess of crumbling drywall now - cracks forming in his infrastructure to allow touch, to slowly reveal what's inside, to trust. If Bucky were to touch him he's sure he'd turn into a fine powder right in front of him. He'd been so careful to spackle every hole that loving his best friend had created but it hadn't held up well.

Stupid weak beams.

"This is your place too Buck, why would I make you leave it?"

There is a flicker of pain in Bucky's eyes before he quickly darts them away and squeezes Steve's shoulder gently (an affectionate gesture that he made his own when they were children).

"Hey, cheer up! If I moved out you'd have more bed space. Might even be able to use your pillow for the whole night without me hoggin' it."

This is Bucky taking a shovel to his feelings and trying to skirt the topic and somehow that hurts worse than him trying to convince Steve that he'd be better off without him ever could. It breaks every defense that Steve has.

"You're not goin' anywhere Buck and neither am I. You wanna go you gotta go through me first."

The only time Bucky has ever mentioned his shortcomings (height, health issues) is when Steve is about to do something stupid and it's the only way to get Steve to listen, to cooperate. Now, however, isn't one of those times so he keeps his mouth shut and doesn't tell Steve that he could easily move past him (purely in the physical sense).

"Alright you win, happy now?"

Steve rubs his temples and purses his lips - "I need you to tell me right now what you meant by last night before I go and do something stupid."

Like love you (harder).

Like kiss you.

Like tell you I've been mad over you for decades.

Callused hands take hold of Steve's wrists and it's not the walls or the stains that he notices; it's his best friend's thumb brushing over the sensitive skin on his inner wrist and wondering how much spackle it'll take to mend this gaping hole because there's no way Steve is surviving this one without lifelong scars.

"Thought you already knew. I tried to...do I really need to tell you?"

Looking into those eyes is mistake number one, leaning in; mistake number two and yet - somehow it feels like this is where Steve belongs.

The first brush of Bucky's lips is feather soft and Steve throws himself to the flames; let's the wildfire build in his veins and singe his skin - wraps a hand around Bucky's neck to deepen the kiss - it's slow and sensual in the way it is in every fantasy Steve has ever dreamed up. It's an answer and a promise - _"I'm with you."_

Bucky pulls away long enough to check in with Steve - "I did somethin' stupid for both of us, does that count?," he murmurs as he lightly kisses Steve's forehead.

"Only if you do it again," Steve grins.

Maybe, Steve thinks to himself, having a paper thin heart isn't a bad thing after all.

**Author's Note:**

> ****all credit for the poem belongs to edwin bodney, I do not own it*****


End file.
